


Dear Journal

by Avengers_Tower



Category: Captain America, Marvel, The Avengers, captain america: the winter soldier - Fandom
Genre: Concentration Camps, DO NOT BE INTIMIDATED BY THE CHAPTER COUNT, Depression, Experimentation, F/M, PTSD, Suicide, War, World War II, very short chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-21
Updated: 2014-11-24
Packaged: 2018-02-26 10:51:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 6,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2649272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avengers_Tower/pseuds/Avengers_Tower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A journal by Bucky about his life before and after being drafted into the army. It follows his thoughts and actions from the time he was drafted, all through the war, until the last chapter after finding out who he is and all he has done as The Winter Soldier.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. August 7th, 1943

**Author's Note:**

> The tags make it sound super depressing and while it is very sad, there is also cutesy fluff in it too :) probably my best fic ever, Please read!
> 
> Also, DO NOT LET THE CHAPTER COUNT INTIMIDATE YOU! The chapters are very very short; each chapter is one journal entry. On average, Chapters are composed of less than 400 words.

I have been drafted into the army. My therapist says I should start this journal to record my thoughts of the upcoming events. She says it could help my mental state. I haven't told Steve about being drafted yet. Things have been different between us lately. That idiotic, fight-picking, punk is dead set on enlisting. Stupid little twink is going to get himself killed. Luckily for me, he has about 80 physical ailments that would make him "unfit to serve"; still, with the determination of a small army, he's shown that he's capable of accomplishing the impossible. He claims that his enlisting has nothing to do with his physical state and everything to do with his responsibility to his country. Bullshit. Everyone knows that the real reason he wants to fight so badly is because he wants to prove the point that even the little guy can pack a pretty big punch. Everyone knows that if he ends up, by some twisted miracle, making the enlistment, the only way he's coming home is in a body bag. Maybe that's what he wants. To die a hero's death and be remembered as a perfect soldier who made the ultimate sacrifice. I am considering waiting to tell him until the expo. By some ironic twist of fate, I'm scheduled to fly to England the day after the expo to start basic training. I'm too much of a coward to tell Steve before then. As I said before, things have been different lately. First there was the incident, after which point he treated me different when all I wanted was normalcy.Before the incident, everything was great. We were just two best friends who got a flat together in downtown Brooklynn where we have both always felt at home. Things got rough and soon all we had was each other. Then it happened. After that, neither of us were the same. I wanted to talk about it but I knew he didn’t know what to say. No one does. We were distant from each other, but soon we learned to cope. We learned to adapt. Things started to get back to normal between us. I know that if I were to tell him that I was drafted rather than enlisted, things would just regress back to their downward spiral. Steve has always been a hardcore American patriot who likes to stand up to anyone who oppresses anyone else. real "ultimate sacrifice war hero" kind of stuff. He's too proud to call it "little man's syndrome" even though that's exactly what it is.


	2. August 8th, 2014

I still haven't told Steve. I came close to saying something while we were grocery shopping this afternoon, but I just couldn't bring myself to do it. Steve is so passionate about fighting for his country and standing up to those Nazi scum. He is determined to bring down every person who has the slightest idea that they can pick on anyone inferior to them. The tenacity in his eyes is beginning to worry me. He's not going to back down from this one. He will keep fighting people like this in a never ending cycle until he dies. He knows that if he goes to war, he is never coming home. Nothing I can say will have any effect on him so I just stand back and watch it happen, helpless. I've tried to talk him out of it on numerous occasions, but he just goes into long lectures on rights and responsibility. I can't tell him that I was drafted. All he wants, more than anything else in the world, is to have the opportunity to fight in the war. What if he knew that I had that I was given that opportunity and unwilling to take it? What if he knew that I had willingly thrown away the gift he so desperately wanted only to have it shoved back into my ungrateful arms? He would be so angry with me. He would be so frustrated with himself. Things would just get worse between us. That's the last thing I want, especially when he is so intent on a valiant death for his country. 

In the end, I know what will happen. I will go to war and he will find a way to follow. I will follow him into battle and we will both suffer. Steve won't consider it suffering, he will see it as an atonement. He will keep fighting and I will keep following until one of us is killed. This isn't what I want. I just want to stay here in our small city flat and keep living our quiet existence. We don't have much, but we have each other. I don’t know what I would do without that little jerk to keep me in line. 

Today I finished packing for my upcoming trip to Europe. there is a certain finality about what I am doing. Nothing is ever going to be the same from this point forward. I am set to leave in two days. How could they expect me to just leave everything behind?


	3. August 9th, 1943

Everything is in place for tonight. By some miracle, I was able to find both myself AND Steve a date for the expo. Sure I may have slightly over exaggerated his physique and strong features (there's hardly anything strong about that idiot but his will), but hey, that's what wingmen are for. My bags are all packed and there are small notes for Steve hidden all over the entire apartment with little messages like "don't forget to eat", "write to your buddy, you know, the one at war" or even just "miss you". He's just the kind of dork who would appreciate that sappy stuff. I'm still hesitant about telling Steve, but I'm hoping that the notes will almost make up for it. My bag is packed and sagging miserably against the foot of my bed. I'm supposed to pick Steve up from the cinema where he thinks I will just be taking him home. I was actually just about to head out the door before I remembered I still had to write in this stupid useless journal today.


	4. August 10th, 1943

Sorry for the messy handwriting, it is not so easy to keep a steady hand on a train. My whole regiment is now travelling through the European country side, headed to Germany. Last night went better than expected. I didn’t tell Steve that I was drafted, but rather let him assume that I enlisted. I know this was not the honest thing to do, but this was after he told me of yet another try, and fail, to enlist and I simply couldn't bring myself to tell him. Rather than being suspicious, as I unconsciously suspected he would be, he didn't even bring it up. He congratulated me, but seemed sullen that he wouldn’t be joining me. He seemed significantly happier after I introduced him to his date for the night. I think her name was Jessica or something along those lines. Sadly, after realizing that he was not all that I described him to be, she quickly began to ignore every pass he tried to make at her. I felt genuinely bad for the guy. He hasn't had a real girlfriend, who treated him as he deserved, since I met him in third grade. The guy needs to get laid. Luckily, my date seemed to be much more accepting of my advances. Her name is Emma. Emma has a beautiful doll face and wide brown eyes. her slim figure was outlined tantalizingly under her thin dress. She seemed genuinely smart and funny. God, I wanted to get to know her. If it hadn't been for my approaching departure, I would have gladly taken up a stable relationship with her. As the night wore on, Steve became increasingly withdrawn and somber. Seeing him like that was almost as bad as picturing him on the front lines. At least in the army he would be happy. We hadn't even finished watching the first show before Steve disappeared. I knew exactly where he was headed and with a deep sigh and a quick explanation to explanation to the dames, I headed for the enlistment booth in front of the performance tent. 

I found him waiting in line where he was quick to give some grand statement of his right as an American citizen to die a valiant death for his country (I'm paraphrasing of course) 

After a brief and heated argument between us, I let him go. The moron was just going to do what he wanted to do anyway. Apparently it was no issue to him that he was breaking the law to enlist multiple times under different aliases. Apparently it didn't matter that he could be imprisoned and I wouldn't be there to bail him out. Apparently his life doesn’t mean as much to him as it does to me.   
In his own stupid idiotic way he apologized to me after that. I accepted his meager apology. The asshole should have never had to apologize in the first place. He should have just accepted the fact that he was never going to be accepted into the army and he should have just found some other way to help like working in a factory or raising funds or just staying safe. 

We said a quick goodbye that was more of a "see you later" than a real goodbye. 

The rest of the night was great. I took Emma and Jennifer (or whatever the hell her name is) dancing, and Jennifer/Jessica left after the second song. That was fine by me. She was a bimbo and Emma was exceedingly more interesting. The more time passed, the more I wanted to stay. I was quickly and alarmingly falling for Emma the more I learned about her. Steve obviously needed someone. I just wanted to stay. Emma seemed to be genuinely interested in me, and somewhere towards midnight we stumbled back to my place. Steve still wasn't home, which struck me as odd, but I just brushed it off. This morning Emma and I said our goodbyes. After spending the night with her, I wanted to stay more than anything. This morning we spent over half an hour just wrapped in each other's arms and when she headed towards the door there was actually a tear in her eye! 

I looked for Steve then. He still was no where to be found, but I did notice that his small overnight bag was missing. Maybe the kid finally got lucky after all. 

Looking back I should have given him a real goodbye last night at the enlistment tent. I'm now in another country with no idea when (or if) I'll ever come back. If I'll ever see him again.


	5. August 11th, 1943

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: There is mention of suicide

My regiment was stationed just outside Frankfurt, Germany. I am in command over my own section of 8 men. Germany is not what I expected. I knew that the country had been at war for years now, but I did not expect the extent of destruction within Germany itself. The streets are littered with broken glass and old crumpled newspapers. Most of the storefronts are abandoned and there is not a single window pane that remains intact. As we were passing through Saarbrucken, there was a small pink shoe laying abandoned on the sidewalk. It couldn't have been for any child bigger than a toddler. That was when I realized just how screwed I was. The camp we are staying at is as expected. It's a small patch of desert in an otherwise thriving environment. The ground has been trampled and driven over by various trucks and vehicles so many times that native plants and grasses no longer grow here. I am beginning to wonder if I will even make it home. this is something that I hadn't really considered before. Up to this point, my main point of concern has been making sure Steve doesn't follow me here. Now that I have no control over that any more, I'm beginning to realize just how much trouble I've gotten myself into. Sure, none of this has ever been my choice in the first place, but now that I'm here facing everything, it just got a hell of a lot more real to me. I have to make it home. I'm not being self righteous or anything like that, but after the incident, Steve made it pretty damn clear that he would not be okay without me. The kid stopped eating entirely while I was in the hospital. When he came to visit me, the shirt that already sagged at his shoulders was now a huge sac of unused fabric. He was so thin I told my doctor that maybe Steve should be admitted for malnutrition. His eyes were sunken so deep in his skull that I thought they would disappear. How could I have ever been so selfish to do something like that to him? How could I ever be so stupid as to do the same thing again now? I should have known better, then and now. What did I think was going to happen when I let him find me unconscious in a pool of my own blood? Did I think that he would just get over it? Did I think that he would just find someone else to take care of him? He didn't have anyone else. What if it had been him? What if I had been the one to walk in on him passed out in a pool of his own blood, a knife in one hand and a slash through the other? I honestly don't know what I would have done. He is the only person left in my life that could help me deal with something like that. How could I EVER think that it was okay to do something like that to him? And now I'm doing the same thing all over again. This time it's worse. This time he wants to follow me. This time it's a pact rather than a tragedy. The realization is startling to me. How could I have not seen this before? How did I ever let this happen? I should have found him that night. I should have told him the truth, that I wanted to stay, that I needed him and I to be safe together far away from the dangers of war. What am I supposed to do now?


	6. August 14th, 1943

The men have begun to grow listless. The past few days have been dedicated strictly to preparing our defense for when the enemy makes the first move. While the commanders of each group have been preparing battle strategy and such, the rest of the men just lie in wait. I am actually thankful to have this journal to write in. paper and books are such a rare and valuable commodity here and it actually does help me keep my thoughts together despite the fact that it's a complete waste of time and a huge pain in my ass. I haven't really made any new friends here. I know that if this really is where I'm going to spend the last years of my life, I should at least get myself someone to talk to. Sure I will go to the bar with a few of the other men but mainly our conversations consist of them bragging of all the beautiful women and families they left back home and me chuckling at their vulgar jokes. I'm beginning to really miss Emma. I honestly didn’t think she would have such a big affect on me after only a one night stand, but she never seems to leave my mind. I would write to her, but I never caught her address and the mail for us soldiers hardly ever gets where it needs to go anyway. I've tried writing to Steve but he never writes back. I think something strange is going on. I haven't heard from him since the expo and it is not like him to not write back from my letters. I didn’t even see him the morning I left. If that idiotic moron got himself into trouble, I will go back to the states and kick his ass myself.


	7. August 16th, 1943

We finally got our orders this morning. Nazi troops raided a town about 15 miles west of camp last night. Our battalion finally had somewhere to go and someone to fight. We spent most of the day marching and made it into the border of the town by mid afternoon. When we got there, things were chaotic to say the least. Buildings were still burning even though the town had been raided over 16 hours ago. Broken glass crunched under our boots as we walked through the streets. Several families were huddled together in the streets just holding each other in tattered clothing. For the rest of the night we spent our time pulling people from collapsed buildings and trying to find lost loved ones. Most of the time we were not successful. We managed to help about three people total but for almost everything else, there was nothing we could do. There was one memorable moment when a man rushed out of his house and collapsed at my feet. His clothes were freshly torn and caked with dirt. He had minor burns that had blistered on his face and hands and I suspected they were more extensive under his clothes. When I leaned over to help him, he began shouting angrily in German, clawing at my face and arms. I jumped backwards and told my superior about the strange man. He told me that he native Germans probably blamed us for their hardships. If we hadn't come here to stop them, they wouldn't have to suffer like the are. If things were real before, they are all out terrifying now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did minimal research for this fic so please please please forgive any technical mistakes.


	8. August 17th, 1943

Today we left the town. after being verbally abused in German by just about every townsperson living there, we collectively decided that they could care for themselves. Now our group of just over 400 soldiers was headed West into the countryside where our scouts had spotted the Nazi camp. We were prepared to storm their camp at night after they had retired. It was to be a surprise attack in very early morning that no one would be expecting. I found this to be slightly ironic considering that this is exactly what the Nazis had done to that unsuspecting villagers, I guess it is a form of poetic justice. God always was a joker in my experience. I am not an overly religious man. I never have been. Sure I believe that there is a God, and yes I believe that if he truly exists, it would make sense for him to love all his creations, but I have never really been one to go to church on Sundays or regularly read the bible and pray. But you can bet your sweet ass that I sat down and prayed for over half an hour before writing this. I prayed feverishly. I prayed until tears streamed from my eyes. I prayed until my voice was hoarse and my soul was numb. I prayed until I felt that God was listening. I prayed that I would make it home.


	9. August 18th, 1943

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Mild violence

I am alive. These were my first thoughts as woke up on the forest floor at the sound of the trumpets. It was a rude awakening, yes, but I am alive. In fact, as I looked around at the soldiers waking up around me, I realized that there have been very few casualties. As I think back to the events of last night, I realize just how lucky we were. We entered their camp just after 2 in the morning. There were only two guards standing look out and luckily two archers on our side killed them before they could sound any alarm. We went from tent to tent killing soldiers in their sleep. We only got through the first two tents before soldiers woke up at the sounds of gunshots and muffled screams. When the soldiers woke up, they were groggy and confused. It was a slaughter. There were about 500 men, just less than a hundred more than were on our side. We had killed over half of them before the soldiers became fully aware of what was happening and retaliated. Even when they began to fight back, we had already killed more than half of their battalion and the soldiers that were left seemed flustered and unorganized. They began to fight back angrily, but we quickly overtook them and those who surrendered were shipped to France for prosecution. I did not feel overly helpful throughout the attack. I mainly found myself stumbling around from tent to tent and aiming my gun at anything that resembled the vague silhouette of a human. I think I might have shot a bookcase at one point. I know I shot a guitar at another point. I was in a daze. people were running past me and shouting. fires had been started inside tents and in a matter of minutes, the quiet night had been transformed into flames and gunshots and chaos. 

I killed four people last night. Four men with families and loved ones who were only here following orders. Four people who could have gone home to their families. four people with passions and quirks and strange things that they love to do. Four people who might have been drafted like me. Four people who might have been reluctant to be here. Four people who might have been passionate to fight for their country like Steve. Four people who could have wanted to be here doing everything they could to earn their right to live in their country. Just like Steve. 

The thought of it alone makes me sick. How could I have done this? How could I have just killed innocent men? 

I hate that I did this. 

Worse, I hate that I didn't even care before now.


	10. August 20th, 1943

The full gravity of what it means to join the army has hit me like a ton of bricks. I don't know what I thought that soldiers did before, but now it has become blatantly obvious. I knew that soldiers went oversees to kill the bad guys. I didn’t realize that each man in the army may not necessarily want to be there. I did not realize that each man was directly responsible for one of these other soldiers. I did not know the horrors that people would do to other people just because they were "following orders". I thank God every day because I know Steve and Emma aren't having to go through this.


	11. August 22nd, 1943

Today back at base camp, we have been joined by a brigade of over 2,500 more troops. I don't know exactly what they're planning, but I know something big is about to happen. Just a few hours ago they called all the troops together with their respective leaders to discuss the plan. Apparently, about 20 miles south of here, there is a concentration camp holding over 2000 prisoners and staffed by just over 600 men. There have been rumors of human experimentation and torture, but it is considered more of a work camp than a death camp. There are now just over 3,000 soldiers here and come tomorrow, 2,000 of them will be going up against the armed staff of the camp and eliminating all hostile threats. After that work is done, the rest of us will be tending to the prisoners and shipping them off to 'safe countries' such as France until the war is over. I am one of the minority who will be dealing with prisoners. I honestly don't know who has the worse end of the deal. On one side of the spectrum, we would be forced to kill more innocent men. Granted, they may not all be entirely innocent, in fact some may be a plague to the earth whom deserve to die, Still, I can't shake the feeling that most are just as reluctant to be here as I am. Men who are just following orders. Men who drink themselves to alcohol poisoning just to forget the things they've done. Men like me. Maybe even men like Steve. To kill more men like Steve. To kill more men like myself. I don't know that I'm mentally prepared for that. On the other hand, We are going to be rescuing prisoners, and while the job description is much more uplifting, we will be fully aware of all the tortures they have suffered. I'm not entirely sure that I'm ready for this either. I just don't want to be here period. Thank God Steve isn't here.


	12. August 23rd, 1943

Today is the day. I am not ready. I'm beginning to feel really lonely. Sure, I haven't really been gone all that long, but even so it's been almost two weeks since I last saw Steve or Emma. God I miss them both.


	13. August 26th, 1943

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a long one and it covers Bucky's visit to a concentration camp. There isn't really any intense gore, but there is definitely the description of some of the prisoners from the camp who are not exactly healthy. There is also description and mention of torture methods, but no real torture is described. You have been warned.

I haven't written in a few days. It was a long time before I even knew what I should say. Three days ago was the worst day I have ever had in my life. No matter how much I drink, even when I pass out at the bar, even when I wake up the next morning and my words are still slurred, even when I don't remember my own name, I can't forget what happened at that camp. 

When we got word that the camp was secured, half of the soldiers who went up against the hostiles at the camp returned to base with injuries. The other half got to join us in cleaning up the mess. We had 150 trucks to shuffle people where they needed to go. Prisoners that had survived were to be shuttled to a nearby town where shelters were already in place to house them until they could make the trip to France. Any of them with injuries would be cared for at medical centers in that city. Those who were to sick or injured to make the trip were to be left behind. 

We loaded the trucks to head out just after three in the afternoon. I still haven't made many friends here at the base, but there are a few men who have been nice enough to accept me into their social circles. I rode with them to the camp. 

When we arrived, we were met with chaos. Prisoners were waiting at the closed gates, looking for any opportunity to escape. At first, it was difficult to tell that the garish creatures clawing at the fence in front of us were human. They were so thin I could see every bone. I could see the tiny pebbles that were their wrist bones. I could see very clearly each and every rib of those who weren't wearing shirts, it was easy to tell which ribs had been broken and left to heal on their own. I could see their entire kneecaps where in a healthy person, I would just see an outline or a knob, in these I could see the entire shape and size of the bone. Their arms were as thick at their biceps as my arms were at the thinnest part of my wrist. Their legs were no bigger. Their eyes were sunken back so far into their skulls that I could see the circle of their eyeball covered by a papery thin eyelid. Their hair was only an inch long and it was virtually impossible to tell the men from the women. Soon I realized that there were no children at this camp. I did not want to think about what had happened to them. 

The soldiers unloaded quickly. We were each given a small backpack that had some food and water to give to the prisoners that needed immediate nourishment. I chuckled softly to myself. there was no way these small provisions were going to be enough. The gates were opened and to our surprise the prisoners didn't all fight each other for seats on the trucks. They walked cautiously through the gates as a garish unit of skeleton figures. There were maybe 900 of them all waiting patiently for a turn to load the vehicles. I had the fleeting suspicion that they had waited in lines like this before. Maybe to get food or something along those lines. There was a certain equality between them. Even though not a word had been spoken between soldiers to prisoners, they didn't push or shove their way onto the trucks. They didn't speak, they just shuffled forward in a shapeless mass. They looked like a small army of dead eyed zombie skeletons. Just a blob of decaying bodies that somehow found the will to keep breathing. Three soldiers waited with each truck to help situate the prisoners and the rest of us entered the camp. 

Our ghastly welcoming committee was nothing compared to what awaited us for the next several hours. Directly ahead of us was a huge hospital type building where all the sick and injured prisoners were held. To the left of that was a large building that I suspected was used for distributing food and factory work. over to the right of all this was a very very large building that had a giant tower behind it, somewhat resembling a factory smokestack. One of the soldiers later told me that this is the crematorium. to the right of that are two relatively well maintained housing units. This is probably where the soldiers worked and slept considering that the only other buildings on the camp were three barn-like buildings that were rotted from the inside out. That must have been where the prisoners slept. 

We split into companies of around 200 men. There were 13 companies total and we had nine buildings to cover. We sent one company to each of the buildings and rest were to collect the dead and bring them to the crematorium to be identified and buried properly at a different time. I have serious doubts that they will ever be identified and given a proper burial. I am inclined to think that they said this more for the soldiers' sake rather than speaking the truth. I have the suspicion that they are going to wait until everyone is gone and then some poor few suckers will be left to load the incinerator and burn the bodies. One of the trucks from our base had been loaded with wooden carts. At first I had no idea what purpose the carts could serve but it became quickly apparent that they were to be used as transport to get the bodies from the buildings to the incinerator. 

I was one of the unlucky ones. My company was assigned to the hospital. After a quick survey of the building, we split so that each squad of our company (composed of 8-24 men) was to take one floor. Being the Sargent of my squad, I got to lead my group of 10 men from room to room. We had the misfortune to be assigned to the main level so there were nearly twice as many rooms to check. We were given a wooden cart, and sent on our way. 

The first order of business was to check all hallways, bathrooms, and open areas for people in need of attention. We came across several dead bodies, most of which were employees and soldiers that had been killed by our initial group of troops that had been sent here. Our wooden cart was filled quickly and it had to be emptied twice before we even made it to the first room. 

The first room was dark. Rows and rows of hospital beds were packed into the small room. there was a single, very narrow walkway between the beds which were pushed together so tightly that it was essentially one big slab on each wall of dirty linens and rotted mattresses. 11 or so of the 30 something beds that were packed into the room were occupied with moaning figures. No one in our squad spoke German or Yiddish so it was extremely difficult to ask how they were hurt or sick. I went over to help a man at the far side of the room. He had pale white skin and a raspy voice. His hair was wispy and white even though his face looked like it couldn't be more than 20 years old. He was just as thin as those we had seen at the front gate and it quickly became clear that everyone in the camp would look this way. The man did not look injured at first sight, but when I grabbed his arm to help him to his feet, his skin was ice cold. When I looked at him, a little closer this time, I could see that there were small droplets of water in his hair and on his face. His clothes were dry, but he had been given no blankets. He was not shivering but his lips were a bluish purple color. I quickly ran from the room to find a supply closet. After hurriedly checking every spare place I could think of for a blanket to cover the man, I gave up and decided to give him my thick army jacket. I knew that there were replacements back at base that I could be given and I could not just let this man freeze to death. As I handed him off to one of the men who was shuffling prisoners to their trucks, I wondered how the man had gotten so cold and wet. There was not a single body of water in the entire base (and the only showers were completely unavailable to prisoners), and it is too warm, even now in August, for anyone to be so cold by simply being exposed to open air. Despite the puzzling case of the cold man, I continued my work. I moved from room to room. I helped a young woman with a broken leg, I carried an old woman who looked to be inflicted with yellow fever. This was also puzzling to me. Yellow fever has never been prevalent in Germany. Sure, it had a habit of killing soldiers in eastern Poland, but that was hundreds of miles away from here. Still, we traveled on. There were so many more, that I lost count. Some rooms were packed with multiple people on each bed due to a lack of space and others were far more sparse like the first room we came across. Hours had passed by the time we reached the last door. unlike the rest of the rooms, this door was closed and locked. There was no room number beside the door as their had been previously, and as a team, my squad broke down the door. 

The door swung open loudly to a dark and unlit staircase. we went down about five flights of steep stairs before finally reaching what we assumed to be the basement floor. A young man who I had gotten to know as Joseph found a light switch on the wall and flipped it on. The scene laid out In front of us was a gruesome one. There were no separating walls, it was just one massive, airplane hanger sized, rectangular torture chamber. The walls were about 20 feet apart and the room was set up as more of a corridor than a room. There was a walking pathway that hugged the left wall and was about three feet wide. to the right of the walkway were different sections dedicated to different types of torture. First up was a large tub filled with water. Small marbles of ice floated on the water surface and puddles riddled the concrete floor. It occurred to me that maybe this was how the man I had helped earlier had been so cold and so wet when prisoners were forbidden to bathe. Just like that I thought I was going to be sick. Resisting my churning stomach, I continued onward. Small chips of glass crunched beneath our boots. Whoever was down here had left in a hurry; most likely after hearing the firefight going on upstairs. 

Next was a padded chair. It didn't look like anything special, but as we got closer we could see the thick leather restraints attached to the arm, head, and back rests. On the small table next to the chair was a small machine. I don't know it's purpose, but if it is down here, and is used with a chair like that, it's unlikely to be a good thing. 

Further down the line was a glass chamber. It was a cube that was about 10 feet on each side. As we got closer we could see that there was a cloudy white gas being pumped into the chamber. We passed by slowly, looking into the clouded glass, when a slow movement caught my eye. I stopped to watch. I wish I hadn't. Laying on the floor of the chamber were four twitching bodies. It was obvious now that the gas was definitely poisonous. There was nothing we could do for these people. We kept walking. 

As we made our way forward, we came across the most gruesome of the sections. This area was so vile it had to be separated from the rest of the room by a dirty white curtain that was hanging from the ceiling. We had stumbled across the autopsy room. 

A mangled corpse sat abandoned on the metal table. There were several cutting instruments, spattered and dripping with blood, laying on a small table beside the body. The form on the table was more of a heap of bloody tissues than a person. 

Four of the nine other soldiers I was with, including myself, lost our lunches over the sights of the hospital dungeon. We didn’t make it back to camp until the early morning hours the next day. 

I have not slept deeply since seeing that room. 

I've tried to drink away the memories. I've tried seeking the comfort of others. I've tried everything. I cannot forget the horrors of that camp. Whenever I pass out (either from sheer exhaustion or after drinking enough to tranquilize a horse) I have nightmares. I fear that I will never sleep soundly again.


	14. August 29th, 1943

The commanding officers have given those of us who worked at the concentration camp a reprieve of sorts. They have left us to our own devices for the past week but I know they are planning something big. A couple days ago, we received word that there is a group of German soldiers, less than half a mile from here that are not moving. It's like they are waiting for something. I can't place it, but something about the whole thing just seems off. The soldiers at the base are uneasy and restless. Those of us who went to the camp did not come back the same. The consumption of alcohol between those of us that came back is triple what it was before we left. It would almost be better if we had something to do or someone to fight. On the other hand, I'm not sure I am mentally prepared to see another dead body.


	15. September 2nd, 1943

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally getting to Bucky's capture into Hydra. Sorry it took so long; maybe I'll shorten the exposition. Let me know in the comments below what you think!

The announcement came in this morning. A brigade of 2,500 soldiers will be attacking the German force head on. Due to our acts of bravery in the concentration camp last week, my battalion of 437 men will be going after the research division a few miles north while their defenses are occupied by the forward attack. It is supposed to be a straightforward and simple plan. My battalion is not expected so suffer many casualties, so why do I feel such a sense of impending doom?


	16. September 4th, 1943

Things are starting to improve. Last night I slept soundly for the first time in two weeks without a single nightmare! Steve still has not replied to any of my letters, which is worrisome, but lately I've realized that I don't really think of him or Emma as much as I did before. When I do think of them, I get a sharp ache in my chest and I miss them terribly, but reminding myself that it is a blessing each and every day that they aren't here with me helps get me through. I know that tomorrow will be difficult to me. Our only objective is to free hostages and eliminate hostiles. Those who surrender will be taken as prisoners until the colonel decides otherwise. 

I can do this. 

At least that's what I keep telling myself. I'm still extremely shaken by the events of the past month and I feel like I'm coming apart at the seams. Yes things are getting better. Yes I'm overcoming the things I've done and seen in the past. Even so, I cannot shake the feeling that something awful is about to happen. Something that will put everything else that I've experienced to shame. It is unnerving.


End file.
